Harold Purling had come up post-haste from Harbridge; and when the
mother opened her eyes they rested upon her son.
A hurried consultation passed in whispers between the two doctors.
Phillipa was present; she and the maid had not left Mrs. Purling all
night.
"Mother," said Harold, "you are out of all danger. Tell me--do you
recollect taking anything likely to make you ill?"
"Only the pills." She pointed to the family medicine--a box of which
stood always by her bedside. She had some curious notion that it was
her duty to show belief in the Primeval Pills, and she made a practice
of swallowing two morning and night.
Harold opened the box; examined the pills; finally put one into his
mouth and bit it through. Bitter as gall.
"They have been tampered with," he said. "These contain strychnia. You
have had a narrow escape of being poisoned, dearest mother--poisoned
by your own Pills!"
He half smiled at the conceit.
"There has been foul play, I swear. It shall be sifted to the bottom,
and the guilty called to serious account."
But the mystery was never solved. If Phillipa had in her heart
misgivings, she kept her suspicions to herself; no one accused her;
there seemed explanation for her cowed and trembling manner in Gilly's
downfall and disgrace. The man himself never reappeared openly; only
now and again he swooped down and robbed Phillipa of all she,
possessed--the thrift of her allowance from Mrs.
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